Passed Over

Bread and Wine

by Marie Thearose

Why should anyone die a sacrifice
when living blood flows in me
poured out and refreshed each moontide?

Why must I drain it from
the slit throats of turtle doves
to cleanse myself for
blood I could not help but spill?

No other fount I know
but my own.
And when this red snow
beneath my legs melts
water and blood
will nourish the earth.

LEAVE A REPLY

Please enter your comment!
Please enter your name here

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.